Tell Her This
by madge3210
Summary: Oneshot RoryLogan, Logan's perspective and thoughts post pub debacle. Del Amitri's Tell Her This


_Tell her not to go  
I ain't holding on no more  
Tell her something in my mind freezes up from time to time_

"Colin, I lost it. I lost her."

"What did you do this time?"

"I screamed at her in the pub after we got into a fight, I…I stormed out and left her there."

"I hate to say this buddy, but I think you did it with this one. I mean, you never even treated the one night stands this badly."

"I know, I don't know what to do."

All he did was replay their disastrous night over and over, a cacophony of pain on permanent repeat inside his head. He had never once been so careless with a girl; he threw money at her, falling back on his old habit of using it as a solvent to whatever was bothering him. Money generally fixed things for him, but he had no idea why he thought it would repair things with her. There was something about Rory that caused him to completely lose himself, and he hated that feeling of free fall. He didn't dabble in emotions, he cooed and caressed and cared out of sheer muscle memory, but Rory made every single touch meaningful, taught him how to read her body, her eyes, her heart. He shuddered with that knowledge, knowing that she had given him a powerful tool against her, far too trusting with her supply of ammunition. Unwittingly, or maybe due to her naïveté, she handed him the most wounding weapon someone could have in their arsenal, and never expected him to use it. But, lo and behold, of course he did. He froze the frame in his mind, viewing his actions from inside: He saw his lips forming cruel, hurtful words, aimed directly at her most vulnerable spot; he felt them flow from his lips even though his brain and his heart furiously screamed at him to stop. In his mind's eye, he saw himself shatter her heart, and he felt release from it. Call it his masochism, or the result of a love-starved childhood, but he knew how to make her hurt, and at that moment when he carelessly tossed bills in front of her, he wanted her to. He needed some way to express his pent-up emotions from dealing with his father, fending off questions, insults and barbs. It was immature and hateful for him to cut off his nose to spite his face, but he physically needed to scream and rail against himself. It saddened him that she had to shoulder his fear, insecurity and stunted emotions. It scared him that he realized she was so much a part of him; he needed to wound her exactly like he wounded himself. He was completely and horrifically unfair to her, they both knew that, but he could and would never find the words to tell her that she needed to stay with him, no matter how hard he tried to push her away, she needed to save him from himself.

_Tell her not to cry  
I just got scared that's all  
Tell her I'll be by her side, all she has to do is call_

He wished more than anything to wipe away the tears that fell from her once happy eyes. He hated himself even more for causing her so much pain. He wished he could find a way to explain to her that he never meant any of those things, that he was so scared, both to have her and to lose her, because she was too important to him. He didn't want to tell her that he was pathetic, ungrateful and completely unworthy of her, she had never once made him feel like that. She was the first person to never ingrain in him how much of a disappointment he was, but he had gone and tried to force her hand because he was too scared. He was too scared of her and the power she held over him, so he had manipulated her, hurt her because he was so scared of her wounding him first.

He picked up the phone again, dialing seven digits and stopping. He removed her from speed dial; the automatic dialing prevented him from losing his courage and hanging up before she picked up. Once or twice, he called from pay phones or unknown numbers just to hear her voice when she picked up. From those few words she called out, he could tell that she wasn't the same. Under the polite tone she adopted, there was devastation, hurt, agony, and a curious resolve to steel herself against further pain. He would give it all up just to be with her, touch her again, but he can't crawl back to her, begging forgiveness. He knows she needs time to think, and he needs that time to make himself suffer.

_Tell her the chips are down  
I drank too much and shouted it aloud  
Tell her something in my heart  
Needs her more than even clowns need the laughter of the crowd_

They sat at the pub, not an unusual occurrence for them, but he still felt lonely surrounded by people. His friends noticed his sadness, and arranged scores of eager, easy women to lavish him with attention. He wanted attention, but he only wanted her attention. He wanted a challenge, he wanted his normalcy back, but that included her. He attempted to integrate himself into the already-drunken group, but the forced laughs at his unfunny punch line just made his heart sink a little more. He paraded and danced in front of these women, knowing that they only wanted to see the charming, suave, playboy side of him, but he was desperate for one of them to call him on his crap, take him down a few notches and relieve him from his duty of presenting the perfect front. He needed her to interrupt his routine, his song and dance of keeping everyone at arm's length, he needed her to let himself be incomplete because she filled that void for him.

He's swaying as he tries to reach his bedroom door. Finn and Colin are seated around the bar, idly examining their now empty shot glasses. The vile mixture of vodka and self-hatred bubbles in his stomach until he finally allows himself release.

"She's such a frigid ice princess, God, why did I waste my time with her?" His words are met with two narrowed stares.

"Do you mean Rory, Huntz?"

"Of course I mean Rory, the little prude icicle intent on self-righteousness and solitude until she dies! This is all her fault! She's a stupid little girl, a stupid little girl."

"Mate, we all know you don't mean that. Just go pass out."

"No, I fucking mean it this time, she's a stupid little girl. Bring on the booze and broads, gentlemen!"

"No, mate, you don't fucking mean it. And if you do, then you'll have lost more than just that stupid little girl, as you so eloquently put it."

He watched as they shook their heads and got up to leave, their stares boring into him, snapping him out of his drunken stupor.

"Why did she waste her time with me?" His tirade over, he fades as his indignant anger lets out his sails.

"Because she loves you, Huntz, and because she's a far better person than you are, you sad excuse for a boyfriend." The door quietly shutting echoes in his head, reminding him of the emptiness of his life.

He knew his friends had grown to love her right along with him; they were technically on his side merely because of technicalities. He knew where he really stood with them, the people who stuck around to clean up his messes, mostly because there wasn't anywhere else to go. He almost wanted them to run to her, it would give him more fuel to add to his blaze of self-hatred. If they left him, it would only be more affirmation that he was destined for a lonely life, a trophy wife, and a similar relationship with his own children. She was supposed to give him freedom from that; she gave him love and he gave her heartbreak. He almost wished the tables had been turned; at least hearts could be mended, patched and made somewhat whole, but what was he supposed to do with love? Love had little currency for him, it wasn't tangible, or something that could be inherited or expected. What had he done to earn her love? Absolutely nothing. What about her? Did she earn his love? He knew the answer to his own rhetorical question; she didn't need to earn it, he was an emotional sieve with her, all she had to do was stand around and catch it. He identified this as a weakness, and pushed her away so that she wouldn't find out. At least he was skilled at making a mockery of their relationship, if nothing else.

_Tell her what was wrong  
I sometimes think too much  
But say nothing at all  
And tell her from this high terrain, I am ready now to fall_

"What do you want, Logan?"

"Ace, you can't live here, it's not safe! I can't sleep at night knowing you're walking back from the library alone to this place."

"You know what? You don't get to care about me anymore! Not when I stood in front of you, begging you to pick me, choose me, love me! So it's too damn bad that you're having trouble sleeping, I wish you nothing but bad dreams."

"Ace, you don't really mean that, come on. I just meant that I'm worried about you, I want to know that you're okay."

"Yes, Logan, I'm okay. Happy? Satisfied? Good, I'm glad that you got some peace of mind. Now, if you have any other opinions on my life that you'd care to share with me before you leave me alone in a bar, have at it!"

He loved the fact that she was angry, angry enough to make him hurt. He needed her to hate him, needed her to prove him right that he was unlovable, untouchable and unwanted.

"No, God, I can't do this. I'm sorry Logan, this just hurts too much."

What was she doing? She knew showing weakness was against the rules for him!

"You? You're hurt?"

"Are you serious? Get it through your minute skull, you spoiled brat, yes I'm hurt. You don't just stop loving someone, you idiot. But, I'm the real idiot here, aren't I, the plaything that got too attached to you. Well, blame me some more, Logan, go ahead. But this time, when you throw money at me, at least look at me like the whore you think I am."

She spoke to wound, much like he does. He hates that he's the cause of her transformation, her evolvement into a cynical, jaded, untrusting personality that took him eons to manufacture.

"That's not fair, Ace, you know I always thought you were different. I never once treated you like a whore."

She trembled. He hated it. It was too reminiscent of so many scenes of his childhood, him cowering in front of his father, desperate for his love and acceptance, but only finding coldness and empty smiles.

"You just did."

She leans against the doorframe to steady herself, and he almost reaches out to touch her. He wants to make an attempt to soothe her, remind her with one touch that she's beautiful, entirely too special to share, nothing like those other girls that saw him superficially. He hates that she's right, he hates that he knew she was right, he treated her as if she was just another sleeping girl to sneak out on, instead of an important part to his whole. Thoughts were racing around his mind, but he couldn't form a coherent thought to express anything to her. All he could do was watch helplessly as she struggled against her tears, determined and square-jawed against crying in front of him. He wanted to confess to her, give himself some peace for his inner turmoil. He knew she of all people would understand. He needed her to listen to his worst moments, his insecurities and fears. He needed to explain to her that he said too many things that he never meant, he was just desperate for someone else to hurt. He saw several courses of action that would remedy at least a small section of the situation, but he was too far ingrained with a society mask to let down his walls and let her in. That was her real fault, he decided. She made it too easy for him, too easy to take advantage of her absolute trust and goodness, too easy to destroy her when all she begged for was entrance. She made herself too accessible to him, exposed her vulnerabilities, allowed for judgment to be passed upon her. He hated that she had given him this power over her, he hated that he abused her trust and love because of his own shortcomings.

"Ace…"

"Don't call me that. I don't ever want to hear that again from you. Is that what you do with all the other ones, too? Give them nicknames, call dibs on them, make sure everybody knows that you own them, but close yourself off from everybody? God, you had me Logan, you still have me, but I never had you, did I? I think that's what hurts the most. Knowing that you never truly wanted me."

"Rory…"

"Oh good, you actually do know my name! Well, I hope my entry in your little black book will measure up for you. I mean, you remember my real name, so that's got to put me above those bimbos you only called 'sweetie', right? Get out."

He made to reach for her shoulder, but she twisted away, her face contorted with sadness and anger.

"Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me! You made it clear that we're finished, you got tired of me, congratulations, Logan, you broke me. But don't think that just because you once had me, that gives you the right to lay a finger on me. I said, don't fucking touch me!"

He felt a sting as she slapped him, a physical sign of the inner pain he felt. He couldn't explain the magnetic need to feel her skin, but he knew that it drew from his fear that he might no longer remember what she felt like.

The door slammed in his face, the noise echoing off the empty and barren hallway. He tried to focus on the wood, but his eyes betrayed him. Everything was too blurry to make out where he was. He realized he was crying, but couldn't feel the tears running down his reddened cheek.

He saw her again, but he knew better than to approach her. She shuffled down the sidewalk, not picking up her feet or her head. Defeat radiated off her body. She made the atmosphere around her palpable, almost begging someone to take note of it. She was too thin and pale; her dark circles rivaled his own. She stopped suddenly, looking around for something or someone. He knew she could feel him; he always felt her, still felt her every single second even though she wasn't there anymore. He saw her shiver, he knew it was because of his close proximity.

_Tell her something in my mind  
Freezes up from time to time._

He knew she deserved an explanation, any explanation. He debated sending Colin and Finn to talk to her, a gesture more for their sake than his own. He wasn't worth good deeds, only debts. Too much had happened to him for him to hear her, listen to anything she said. He knew if he talked, she would have listened, she still would listen. She was right about one thing, he didn't stop loving her. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he started, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to stop. At least she had given him the satisfaction of her anger. He relished in the fact that he had a whole new host of fears and doubts to plague him; she overrode his father in his mind now. He only wished she had told him everything without crying. Her tears gave it too much emotion, too much staying power. His father stripped words down, made them sharper, more menacing, but he hurled them without emotion. He understood business transactions, but he didn't understand Rory's messiness. He loved order for his chaotic hatred, a tidiness that gave him no loose ends. She was a loose end to him, and he hated that every knot he had tied for himself somehow tangled her up instead. There wasn't a shortcut or alternate means of escape from her, but he was satisfied knowing he could draw upon this forever, the moment where he was handed his dreams, a smart, beautiful woman who loved him, and tossed them carelessly by the wayside. She said she was broken, but he didn't know if he was; he didn't know if he could be broken when he was never whole to begin with.


End file.
